#poem, «Lazarus»

LAZARUS

Whose dream is this from which I now awaken
shrouded in a burial cloth and wrapped in mystery?
I have too much time, time,
time that yesterday I lacked, but that today caresses me
and kisses me on each cheek with lips made of shards of ice,
Ice that does not melt, not even under
this wondrous sun that tans my skin.

What is time, if not the idle thoughts
of the creator of the universe?

Yet I treasure it.
I am not the master of my dreams,
but I archive them.
I am not the ruler of my life,
but I savour it so sweetly.

I am Lazarus.
I am awake.
My dreams I’ve dreamt deep in your mind,
and you have given me this body.
The one who woke me with his command I cannot find.
The dream?
I do not remember,
Perhaps you do
after all it was your dream.

I am Lazarus.
Am I now eternal?
All I have is time,
and she stalks me,
tortures me,
horrifies me.
She lulls me asleep on the lap of a lady
who harvests flowers,
whose fragrance,
poisonous,
inspires in me a marvellous vision
of things that will never be…

I am Lazarus.
If you see me in the gardens,
Will you recognize me?

C.2025, Francisco Bravo Cabrera – 02 SEP 2025 – Izmir, Türkiye – While listening to Piano Concerto No. 20 in d-minor K 466)